


A Surprising Development of Sorts

by rustyHalo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, in which they don't know each other yet and are not best bros, may have more character and relationship installations to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustyHalo/pseuds/rustyHalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider and you would be knocked off your ironic granny rocker by things yet to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I guess this kind of sucks balls. No, it really does. It's a pretty uneventful chapter 1 as far as first chapters go. I'm not really contented with this, but I guess I could just write it up because my favorite part is not in the second chapter. Hehehe I have this half-worked out in my head.
> 
> ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: If you are confused as to what to think with the particular article of clothing I specified in this chapter...clicking this should "help": http://www.mensunderwearbrands.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/rufskin-swimwear-royce-euro-trunk-15223-14821-1.jpg

It's a pretty warm weather down here in Texas right now. The sun shines friendly rays of yellows and oranges at you as you chill in your front yard.

Okay, no. Who the fuck are you kidding, it is bitching hot up in here. The sun is practically a sadist tanning salon manager redding the shit out of you. You are not chill. You are in your board shorts washing the car and passing through kickass lawn sprinklers as often as you can.

Your name is Dave Strider and you're wearing nothing but ironic MLP board shorts, your aviators and that white stuff lifeguards put on their nose, on your nose.

Bro is on the lawn chair, pointy-as-fuck shades over his eyes, and basically rocking the same look as you, except instead of Pinkie Pie against radioactive green shorts, he's actually wearing trunks with Rainbow Dash's face on his crotch.

You narrow your eyes at him as you hose the last of fluff bubbles from his car. _You win this round, Bro,_ you think slyly.

It's nine in the AM on a Saturday, and you don't even know why you're up, but you see a serious-looking car drive by you and you disregard all coolkid (and otherwise) thoughts.

It's the new neighbor, driving slowly with his windows down. He's wearing a shitty fedora and his starch-crisp sleeves are rolled up.

The reason you know he's new is because it's the first time you see him out. He moved in just this Tuesday, and you haven't had a chance to give a welcoming present.

You glance at Bro and give an almost imperceptible twitch of the head. He gets it and replies with an even more subtle nod that ranks on the point of invisibility. You slowly and unsuspiciously turn your back on him.

And you hit jackpot, because as you face the road with a still hosin' hose, the jet of water hits the yawning backseat window. H2O squirts against his unfortunately (for you anyway, otherwise it's the opposite for him) leather seats. Fedora guy hits his breaks. Bro quirks an eyebrow in congratulations.

And a boyish squeal shoots out of the window.

Hat Man opens his door immediately to do the same to the backdoor for his company. "Son, are you alright?"

"Uhh, yeah, Dad, just a bit drenched is all!"

A black-haired goofball teen steps out of the car, dorky rectangular glasses splattered with water droplets and white shirt and denim shorts soaking.

He looks up to look for a culprit, and his royal blue eyes hit your shades and find you.

Acting as chill as ever, you put the nozzle over your head and spray the refreshing water on yourself. Tracks dampen your hair, run down your face and neck and trace the light abs you've been training on for a while now. You don't care how gay this sounds or looks like.

_You diggin' what you see?_ You think wryly as you half-whiplash your platinum blonde hair away from your face to look up at the new kid.

You see him give you the pirate look, rake a hand through his wild, unruly hair and roll his eyes.

You walk up to Hat Man and turn the hose off. You're kinda wondering where his wife's at if this kid is his son.

"Man, sorry to trash your ride like that, I didn't see y'all passin' by," you say to him as sweet and charmingly as you can. You know, not too much to make you come off as an ass-sucker. Enough to make you irresistible in the coolest way manageable.

The dude laughs it off good-naturedly. Just looking at him tells you he's that fatherly figure you sometimes see in British movies and the shit. You don't know if you want to annoy him more or be on his good side. "I would have given you credit if that was a practical joke, otherwise that's alright. Nothing personal."

The kid--whoa, he was almost as tall as you and you were pretty tall--looks up at his old man. "But Dad! He totally swamped the car!"

You take a better (but discreet) look at him. The boy is a bit toned you guess, approximately the same age as you, and pretty okay-looking even with an overbite and dorkass glasses. His hair is, like, perpetually messed up, cause however he tries to flatten or style it, it still perks up and unrulifies fast in the Texan heat.

But what gets you most are his eyes. They look like they change shades and hues, from what you see. Probably depends on distance and angles. You mean, jesus come on they were royal blue a while ago but now they look lighter, borderline blue. Aside from that, they're just transfixing, like they're tryin'a pull you in--

Wait. Hold the fuck up. That thing about his eyes almost became a five-sentence spiel. You're stopping right now.

Good thing Hat Man interrupts your thoughts. "John, it's alright. It was just an accident. Say, why don't we take it for a good laugh? Nanna would have, don't you think?"

The accent. You catch his accent. "You two ain't from 'round here, are you?"

"No," Blue Eyes says, a bit hostile. "We're from Washington."

You replay the number of residents that used to live next door from you. Btw, they all moved away within a few months or so due to odd, unreasonable reasons.

Odd, unreasonable reasons being you and your Bro, hell yeah.

Anyway, they were probably the 18th or 19th. You don't remember. You keep count but christ it's not like it matters much anyway. You just like keeping score a little. Like football or basketball.

So maybe you're writing up a plan to send them back on their way elsewhere again. Who actually gives a fuck. You like to tell people that you have no permanent neighbors cause apparently the Strider tandem is too cool to handle anyway.

And also apparently, Bro has the same idea. He walks up to the small triangle you three make up and bust up a quadrilateral.

"New neighbors?" Bro asks them, pokerface chiseled to perfection.

"That we are." Fed Guy reaches out a hand to shake "I'm Jeff Egbert, nice to meet you."

Bro takes the hand without missing a beat and twists and flicks his fingers to make a complicated bro handshake (each one is new and unique for every encounter; you hope you could be as quick and prepared as him soon). He tips his cap to this guy and answers, "Dirk Strider, call me Bro."

Jeff smiles at his son, who takes it as a cue to speak up. "John Egbert," he grumbles as he puts his own hand out to shake.

You look at it for a second and fistbump his knuckles instead. "Dave. Dave Strider," you say as you push the bridge of your shades up, nodding.

You see the annoyed look in his face, like he can't stand being in the same area as you. Well, too bad because...

"Sorry my li'l bro ruined your car. To make up fer it, I'm invitin' the Egberts to dinner tonight, 's that fine?"

Bro truly has a good hold on the situation. Scratch that. He has the situation on a goddamn tether, pegged down on solid rock and in a twenty feet perimeter pen for good measure. That's how good Bro's hold on the situation is. And, duh, as anyone would know, no one can resist free dinner.

Jeff sums your Bro up in a subtle, gentlemanly manner. He chuckles and he is not surprised by Dirk's outfit how is that possible. That should be fucking disturbing to the average neighbor. And man does this guy love chuckling.

"We'd be delighted."

"Don't be all formal and shit, be here by 7:30."

"Alright. Don't bother with desserts, I have it covered." Mister Starchy Sleeves turns his son in the direction of their car.

"Naw, man, I'm handlin' all courses." You glance at Dirk at this, and give him a 'what the fuck?' look. He isn't, wasn't and never will be good at baking, or any of that dessert business, although he's got the cooking skill perfected just for the sake of the ironic mother-wife deal.

"I digress, we don't want to be much of a bother."

Bro entertains the thought for a while as the other pair head back to the car.

"A'ight, but ya better satisfy with that."

"I will make sure it would." The elder Egbert--Eldbert--chuckles _again_ as he starts the car.

The two of you watch as they take a U-turn, John whining an "aw, Dad, cakes again?" in the backseat. The mere act of watching is stupid, though, since they park next door anyway.

Dirk seems to read your thoughts since he looks you in the shades. "Gentleman irony, not gawky stupidity. Gotta top 'em, okay?" He reminds you like you're, what, four?

You nod and flip him off with a, "Fuck's sake, Bro, what am I, an uneducated derp?" although in some deep part of your brain, you kind of doubt what Bro claims is really what it is. You drown that thought because shit, this is Bro we're talking about.

He replies by ruffling your hair and giving some undetectable knowing smirk before folding up the lawn chair and heading into your house.

Little do you know that when he turned his rainbow ass on you, the smirk was so dangerously fucking close to a smile.

Your name is Dave Strider and you would be knocked off your ironic granny rocker by things yet to come.


	2. Day 1.8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is John Egbert and you man up and snort all that mucus back in before you head back to the Striders’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus christ I am sorry for the very late update. This sucks. This sucks balls so hard. It’s just that my brother stabbed my phone with the wifi plug and it acted up and died on me and that was where I kept all my fanfiction ideas/chapters???? So I had to wait until we got it fixed and hot damn did that take long. I am sorry. Here you go. Enjoy. Or projectile vomit on it. Anything’s good.

The night feels a little bit cooler than this morning but you still can’t believe how unbearably hot it can get in here. Streetlights pepper the sidewalk outside in even distribution. It’s a good thing light pollution isn’t a biggie in this part of town. The sky looks great as the moon shines down on the houses and small buildings.

Stars flicker overhead, and it looks like the mother of all that glitters, sparkles and shimmers just puked her guts out in the sky above. You look outside and watch for a short while before deciding to stand up off your seat by the window.

Your name is John Egbert and you’re opening the screen door into the evening air. You squat down on the grass and wait for Dad to get his act together before you head on over next door.

You really don’t want to go, to be honest. Those people just make you feel uncomfortable and weird. Especially Dave. You think Dave is a whacko. (You think his brother is, too, but he seems nice and looks kind of cool actually so you let it slide.)

Finally, Dad pushes the screen open with a shoulder as he holds a plate of cake. You follow him as he treks to the neighbors.

“Dad, aren’t you going to lock the door first?” You ask and he turns to you.

“Why? Texas has low criminal rates anyway.” He starts backwards-walking kind of like Mater backwards-driving in Cars.

You stare at him. “Daaad!” Really. Sometimes you have to wonder who the mature adult is here.

He chortles (you’ve started differentiating his laughs when you were ten) and hands you the plate. “Fine, fine. Go on ahead and I’ll catch up.” You glare at the cake and pull a face at it as you make your way to the Striders’.

You are almost there and you notice blinking up ahead. They have Christmas lights glinting on their porch in the middle of July. You step onto the wooden panels and notice they also have an absurd tiny Santa Claus figurine taped to their front door.

Yeah, this is weirding you out.

You look around for a place to set the cake on before you knock. You could try balancing it in just one hand but you don’t trust yourself. You _are_ the clumsiest person you know, after all.

So you just stand there and hold the plate and knock with your foot (aka kick lightly on the door). Oh, man, it’s a good thing cousin Jake gave you these awesome boots for your birthday.

You wait there awkwardly until someone comes to the door and opens it.

You want to rip that perky little smirk off Dave’s lips. It’s insane how annoyed you get just seeing him and his stupid hipster shades. It’s like your blood boils way beyond the boiling point on sight of him. Wait. Is that even a thing that can happen? You’re so annoyed you don’t care anymore.

“So, ya miss me already?” He says as he leans against the door.

“I could only wish,” you reply. Note the heavy sarcasm in your voice.

He totally ignores the horrible, sugary burden and disgusted expression you have and just continues being the biggest doorblock. What a complete tool, not to mention a terrible host to a guest. “Why’re you here?”

“Just in case you forgot, your brother, or dad or whatever, invited us over for dinner.”

“Yeah, but you must be so—“

“Oh my God, please let me in.”

“Ya met anyone nice—“

“Are you gay?” You half-shout and give him the best pirate look (no one knows it’s called that (not as far as you know anyway)) you can muster.

Someone does a spectacular spit-take in the background and it doesn’t sound cool in the remotest way possible. Dave flusters and straightens up, taking the plate in your hands. He heads inside and goes through the hallway conveniently placed in front of the threshold. There’s coughing in the background and a “you didn’t hear nothin’.”

You look behind and Dad’s not anywhere near yet so you decide to just follow the jerk in. The hallway probably leads to the dining room or kitchen anyway.

The scene that meets you features Mister Strider on his fours with a dish rag, on the floor. He looks like he just finished cleaning the floor of some random beverage, like, uh, orange soda. And you guess he just did. It’s a great possibility, you know.

He stands up and tosses the cloth behind him. It flies by Dave, who’s already seated, red-faced. He dodges the rag by mere centimeters.

The table is crammed and laden with food of all sorts. They smell delicious, and you see dishes like chopsuey and chicken and more. And of course the cake. Never forget the cake.

“Hey.” Dirk greets with an overdone bow and pulls out a chair for you.

You sit down and thank him. Oh my God you are giggling like a girl. You’re stopping now.

Dad enters the room. “Sorry, I let myself in. The door was open.” He takes off his hat and coat and why is he wearing that, it is burning hot in here?

Mister Strider says it’s okay and they sit down across each other. Dave picks up the bowl of vegetables and loads his plate in a very concentrated manner.

Bro smacks his hand away and looks at your Dad. “So… D’ya say grace?”

Dave turns to him and mutters something really quickly. Dirk replies along the lines of “cool it, li’l bro, I did my research.”

Dad doesn’t seem hear or notice the exchange. He smiles and says yes, as a matter of fact you do.

So he takes your hand, and Bro takes Dave’s. He looks like he was either totally grossed out or hurting, and you think his hippy-dippy shades don’t really guard his supposedly-there façade that well. You take Bro’s hand, and finally, Dad takes the younger Strider’s and completes the circle.

This is just _really_ weird. You don’t know why but it feels unholy to be in the same prayer circle as this guy. Maybe it’s because of the inexplicable hate you feel against him.

Dad leads the prayer and you all just go silent. Then the eating starts and so does casual conversation.

“Did anything eventful occur in my absence?” Dad begins as he fills his plate.

The older Strider shrugged once. “Not much, just John here asked Dave if—“ Dave kicked Dirk in the shin you guess, and he gave a little grunt of pain. The younger brother smirked victoriously until Dirk continues, “—if he were gay.” He turns to you and smirks like some proud father or something with a fist bump under the table.

Dave is red like a stop light. He’s choking on the chopsuey and you want to do a double facepalm combo at the possibility of a telling-to, but you giggle again and return Dirk’s bro fist.

Dad glances at you with an amused-but-also-reprimanding expression then proceeds to look beside him and asks, “Shouldn’t you—?“ He lifts a hand to reach out to the younger Strider.

The older one waves it off. “Nah. He’s a man, he can handle it.”

Awkward silence fills the dining area, except for Dave’s barking cough and the occasional clinking of silver on ceramic. Dirk decides to end his brother’s suffering and passes him a glass of orange Fanta.

He also starts a new topic. “So, not that I mind, but I notice there ain’t no Missus Egbert?”

Oh.

Ohh. Touchy topic.

Your fork freezes mid-air as your Dad tries to find a neutral way to answer this.

“She… She died giving birth to John.”

You look down at your food, tears filling up your eyes far too quickly for your liking. This is stupid. You get up suddenly and the fork falls from your hand. Dad and Bro turn to you and Dave looks up, shades almost slipping if not for nose pads. You murmur a barely heard “excuse me, I have to go cry now” and Dad attempts to stop you with a “John, please” and you take off into the night.

You find yourself on the wooden planks of your new front porch. Your arms are wrapped around your knees and you rock yourself as you cry your eyes dry.

Your mom’s death was something you never got over. Sure, you kind of didn’t actually know her, but this is your mom. She was possibly the sweetest woman in the world. You were practically the reason she died. That’s what you think. Dad keeps on telling you it isn’t, that he’s not the least bit mad or regretful of your existence, that he loves you, but back in Washington you sometimes saw him sitting on the recliner near the door where he said she used to rest, looking intently at something outside the window, something before April 13, 1995.

Talking about it always made you cry. That was just something that never stopped happening. Always, always, you ended up the way you are now. On a heap on the floor, eyes slowly swelling.

You love Dad so much, and you hate yourself for being there instead of her. When you were a kid, he told you about her every night instead of fairy tales. The way she could brighten up a room by just being there, and how she had the most bedheaded strawberry blonde hair. How she carried herself, as graceful as a swan, and her hypnotizing, blue, blue eyes.

You cry more when you think about it.

Someone rustles the grass, and steps on the first step on the porch. Dad has come to shoosh your crying and pap you into calmness.

“You try looking up? The stars are real sweet tonight.”

The dude is looking up and you watch him curiously. Dave turns his attention towards you and his lips are a tight line.

“Wh… What are you doing here?” You flinch away immediately and slam your hands into your eyeglasses, effectively keeping them from sight and earning you extra pain in the process.

He tucks his thumbs in his pockets. “Bro told me to come get ya, your food is getting cold. Says he’s sorry, too.”

“No, no, it’s perf-perfectly fine. I—“ 

Your voice catches in your throat and you hug your knees again to hide your embarrassment.

Dave probably thinks it’s a great way to shoosh you. Well, he thought wrong, because when he sits right down beside you and awkwardly pats your shoulder, you just end up breaking down way more than you did a while ago and even resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, hey, hush now,” he croons in your ear and wow you two are really close right now. But guess what, you can’t do anything about it because you’re too tired and drained emotionally and physically to move a muscle.

“I just—! This is bullsh-shit and I can’t—!”

“No talking, just…calm yourself down and stop crying, a’ight?”

You two stay like that for five minutes and you eventually stop hiccupping. You sit upright and away from him and dry your eyes on your shirt.

“Sorry I got your shirt wet.” You snort your mucus right back into your sinuses and ew, that was disgusting.

He glances at his left shoulder and the whole sleeve to the neck part of his shirt is damp. You know. You just cried on that a few minutes ago. “It’s cool. Nothing that can’t be dried.”

A few seconds of quiet settle before Dave stands up and jumps back on the grass. “You coming in yet?”

“I will… In a few seconds.”

“I’m goin’ on ahead.” He turns his back and starts walking to his house.

“Strider.”

“Jesus, Egbert, I have a first name.”

“Dave, then.”

“What?”

“This never happened. None of this.”

“What, the whole walk-out-on-dinner-and-get-noticed-by-two-more-people-namely-your-dad-and-Bro?”

“No, dummy, I meant _this_!” You flail around and indicate the whole front porch while doing so.

The stupid lame-o lifts an eyebrow and shrugs. “Yeah, okay. Didn’t wanna spoil the world with our whole neighborly bonding time anyway.” He waves and walks back to his own porch.

You give him another pirate look and resist the urge to throw a shoe at him. Seriously, this guy is grating on your nerves like crazy. You just. Raaaaaaargh! Crazy!!!

You look around and hope you just didn’t squawk like an imbecile out loud. You might as well shit on your desk if you did.

Your name is John Egbert and you man up and snort all that mucus back in before you head back to the Striders’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find any errors, grammar-wise or spelling-wise or anything-wise, or do not understand a particular part, please point them out! I would like to be better with all this shit and be understood and not be labeled as a stupid dummy. uwu


	3. Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is John Egbert and maybe you can put that Mandy Moore-reverse role idea in storage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah after a long shitty wait period and in the midst of my college entrance exam reviews I give you chapter 3!
> 
> (Please don't kill me. I have chapter 4 done since the other week and I just have to find a way to sneak into the internet because frankly I shouldn't be here sorry peoplez uwu)

The sun is at it again as you wake up on a scorching hot day. Your window is opened and the blanket has been deposited on the floor because last night you woke up drenched in sweat. You find your head dangling off the side of the bed and you quickly reposition it on your pillow.

The clock on your bedside table reads either 28:57 or 08:24. You yawn and sigh as you try resisting the magnetic field that is your bed.

Your name is John Egbert and the world is a cruel place.

Your glasses are hanging off the lamp (how did it even get there?) and you reach for them. But stupid move, John, because you end up sliding off the bed and landing on the floor with a painful thud. Your glasses swing off the lamp and falls on a box beside you.

You hear footsteps on the staircase and Dad would probably come barging in soon so you go limp and pass on all you strength to your underdeveloped vocal chords.

“I’m okay, Dad!!”

He pauses mid-climb and replies with a muffled, “Are you sure, son?”

He’s smoking his pipe again. You just know it. You roll your eyes and shout back, “Yes, I am!”

Silence follows until you hear the same footsteps retreat back down. You groan quietly and twist your head to the right, then proceed to blind yourself with a partially hidden sun. Groping sightlessly on the floor, your arm hits a box, and eventually, gold. Or your glasses. It’s an interchangeable term, you know.

You gently put them on because the thingy three nights ago that didn’t happen made rectangular bruises happen on your face.

You frown as you remember everything. What? What do you mean forget? Pfft. You can never forget. You could have amnesia or Obliviate on you but you’re sure this would stay. Okay, not really because you would forget everything for real but you get your point. Why are you even explaining your thoughts to yourself, it’s not like anyone can hear you think anyway. Right.

You still have sniffles from crying too hard that night. You try to block the reason you cried from your mind and focus on the not-so-jerky jerk who made you cry on his shoulder like a dummy.

But he was warm and comfortable though he was kind of bony and edgy and he smelled like buttered vegetables and strawberry Kool-Aid and the sun. He had a light hand and somehow his voice, which was annoying the last time you checked, became soothing to your ears.

You don’t want to think of the name Dave because it might be jinxed.

Whoops.

Movement catches your eyes from your window. It’s a pretty ceiling-to-floor length glass window so you get to look even from the floor. Oh wait the movement is from the open window outside your window actually.

Wait, is that who you think it is?

Someone in a white wifebeater and pink Pony Pals boxers is dancing with a vacuum cleaner. It’s not even the cliché waltzing-around-with-it kind of dancing, just… What is he doing??? Dave, stop—okay, seriously. You don’t know if you should laugh or cry. Better take this outside if you want him to stop, since he can’t hear your thoughts (but oh, man, if he can, he would be such a priss about it).

You crawl off to the window and open it to tell him to knock it off, but the song blasting from the stereo catches you off your guard and now you are legit laughing your guts out.

“She’s an uptown girl, my uptown girl!” Woah, he has a pretty nice voice when he sings.

“Dave!”

“You know I’m in love with an uptown girl, my uptown girl!” Dave dances (“wiggles” feels like a more appropriate term, though) near his window this time and sees you.

“Hey Shades!”

By the time you shout it, the volume is down and you just seem like a douche with your head sticking out of the window.

Dave smirks at you. God this guy really loves smirking. It’s like he wants to smile but there’s something that catches his lips on the way to said smile and now he’s perpetually stuck with lameass smirks. “What?”

“Westlife, dude? Really?” You make a disbelieving face and stand up and cross your arms.

“It’s all for the ironies, bro.”

“Try turning it down, will you?”

“Nope, sorry officer. There ain’t no controllin’ the fire when it starts.”

You glare at him. You want to hurl a box full of stones in his direction, but the problem is you may have the box, but you don’t have the stones. “Well at least put some freaking pants on!”

He steps out of the window and onto the ledge. “Why, do you find this distracting?” The dumbass pelvic thrusts at you and you shut your window and shout, “Get a life, asshole!!!!”

It would have worked better (not to mention Dave would have heard it) if your window was open, and the stupid dummy’s smirk is growing wider so you open the window and scream, “Jerk! Get a life! You…pansy!”

That’s when you shut the window. Again.

His name is definitely jinxed.

You pull the curtains to cover the window and drop back on the floor again, hitting your head against a box.

Wow you have to start unpacking but right now more pressing matters are to be paid attention to, namely, Strider matters.

You are flipping out. Definitely, one hundred percent flipping out. You don’t know why but you are just in fetal position on the floor and making a yoga balls-huge deal out of it. You don’t even know what yoga balls are, and you think that maybe they aren’t really that huge but you can’t exactly analyze everything you think, plus you are flipping out too much to even care.

See? You just lost your point. The thing is you’ve been thinking about Dave for the past three days. He’s dumb and stupid and increasingly annoying and he drives you insane but he’s also funny (amusing) and lame and dorky and a wannabe coolkid and there’s something about the comforting Dave you bonded with that you want to expose and get to know more and maybe even befriend.

Woah. That sounded like that Mandy Moore song except in reverse role.

Wait, okay no. There are no roles here. Nothing of that The-Moment-I-Saw-You-Cry deal. Nope, nuh-uh. This isn’t A Walk To Remember.

You sit up and take a peek out your window.

Dave is back to his absurd dancing (you have to admit, the dude has got hips (you’re not looking though shh)) and Oops! I Did It Again is blasting on his stereo this time.

It’s probably the sun that makes your glasses glint just a little but it’s enough to catch his attention. He spins around and pauses mid-step in the chorus and you look away. There’s a Britney Spears-saturated pause before you hear a clink against your window and he threw a pebble at you and where did he even get that.

Stupid you. Why didn’t you just let the damn curtain go?

He takes out a small whiteboard (WHERE DOES HE GET ALL THIS SHIT) and scribbles on it.

_hey egbertson_  


You frown and mouth, “What?”

_dont cry again aight_  


His shades have always been in place and his lips are back to that thin line they were but from what of the strain you can make out on his cheeks, you just know he’s probably trying not to smile.

Your name is John Egbert and maybe you can put that Mandy Moore-reverse role idea in storage.


	4. Day 5.7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider and you are _so_ not jealous of Bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow my hands are shaking while I'm typing this chapter up think I've had too much sugar don't you I mean shit man I ate Maltesers and gummy bears and Nutella and strawberry tape and mangoes and you know what let's start this shit up
> 
> RANDOM SONG SUGGESTION: I suggest you guys listen to 12:51 by Krissy and Ericka while reading this because 1) it will make a cameo in this particular chapter and 2) it is such a nice sad song and aklfjHKJhdgkhaskjfhaks IT IS PERFECT FOR THIS CHAPTER P E R F E C T

The sun is setting in the background of all these little houses, turning everything different shades of orange. Looking up, you notice the clouds are pink and purple. The first star is almost out, and a few kids look out of their windows and wait so they can wish on it.

The afternoon weather is pretty chill, literally. The wind blows past and shakes the leaves of the tree in your yard. The tire swing swings lifelessly on its rope since you haven't touched those in a while.

Your name is Dave Strider and you are in conflict with yourself.

You don't know whether to blast your earholes with your iPhone or your Walkman. You brag about having the latest tech of any kind everywhere but your real treasures are actually the old-school players given to you, passed on like some legacy from Bro.

First world problems, bitch. Deal with it.

Taking out the trash is hard work, which is why you're sat on your ass resting right now. You exhale heavily and give in to the urge of modern technology. You smack your headphones on, playing some random Panic! At The Disco and leaning back against the steps.

A figure steps out of the next house and plops down on the grass, with a longish thing resting on his lap.

Welp. There goes your alibi.

You know deep inside it's not Walkmen and technology bothering you. Fucking hell, you don't even have to look deep inside. It's too damn obvious, with the way you keep staring and how your mind drifts off and it's so weird. No one has to use the scratch-the-surface metaphor because it is lame and the surface already shows the problem, dickwad.

You still haven't forgotten about that night.

John's bowed down, pressing keys and turning knobs and you're wondering if he brought a holographic monitor with that keyboard. Then you realize it's not _that_ kind of keyboard.

You shake your headphones off and hear him playing A Thousand Miles from where you are. His back is turned to you but the keyboard is wider so you can just make out his hands—his fingers—quickly ghosting over white keys.

Wow okay why the fuck are you watching him this is way beyond creepy. It's not even ironic creepy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuck. You are starting to gross yourself out.

It was probably that night's fault.

You followed him out as a chore but you ended up actually enjoying yourself. Wait, no, not enjoying. More like...appreciating the shit that went down. It was refreshing to hang out with some other person besides Bro or the college kids from downtown. Well. For you, it was refreshing, you're just not sure if the dude who was crying his eyes out did.

But there was something about it, you know. Something about the moon, and the stars, and the grass, and the wooden panels. Something about his sobs and how he's not afraid of showing emotions and his soft black hair that your fingers sank into when you pressed his head against your shoulder awkwardly. Something that made you want to watch over him and protect him from the world and punch anything and anyone that would harm him. Something that degraded you into breaking out in a mental five-sentence spiel.

You shake your head. You get carried away by music too easily. Hey! How the fuck did you even get to the feelings jam playlist? Dammit.

_Now Playing: 12:51_

Really, Dante? _Really?_ (Dante is the name you gave your iPhone. Don't fucking ask.)

You switch back to some upbeat shit. This should get you out of that slump. Man, if Rose was here right now, you'd be fucked. So fucked.

Bro opens the screen door and he's wearing his stupid black tank top. You raise an eyebrow slightly at him. Of course, he notices. This is Bro we're talking about.

"What," he deadpans at you.

"The fuck are you wearing."

"Want me to go wear one o' yer clothes?"

"Don't even think on it."

"Then don't fuckin' stick yer nose up my business."

"Where are you even going?"

"I thought I just told ya to mind yer own fuckin' business."

"'kay," you say and leave him hanging.

He stares at you and twitches once before giving in to your game. "I'm headin' off ta Egbert's, lend him a hand with his car."

You pause from tapping on your phone when you hear "Egbert." Catching yourself, you continue tapping and ask, "Why doesn't he bring it over? The man lives next door, christ. He could push it out."

"Nah, I'm tryin' a new approach." Bro hefts the toolbox on his shoulder.

"What approach? What."

"Later, loser," he drawls and you watch him jog over to the next yard.

"Stop shamin' me, ya hear?" You say as loudly as you can without making kid Egbert turn around.

He ninjas behind John and places the toolbox down slowly. John keeps pressing on ivory keys, unaware of the shit that's about to happen.

Aaaaand there goes the tickle fingers.

John's not-actually-deep voice reaches your yard and he's giggle-squeal-snorting up a storm. He knees Bro in the stomach and now they're both on their backs on the grass. He must be strong to hurt him like that.

Your name is Dave Strider and you are _so_ not jealous of Bro.


	5. Day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider and you are in so much trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh guys sorry that took so long!!!!! But my first ever CET of the lifetime is over (it is also the one for the Ivy League ;w;) and now we gotta look out for the next few ones. But first, an update!!!!!! I promise this one is going to be a bit lengthy (A BIT) and also action happens heeheeheeheehee (wow that was extremely gay)

It’s a smoking hot afternoon and you can practically see your sweat evaporate before your very eyes. You shift on the couch you’ve been lying on for the past, what, fifteen hours, and you’ll be damned if the cushions, blanket and pillows aren’t drenched in sweat, too.

It’s 2pm and you fell asleep in the living room. You keep still, waiting for five minutes for a random attack by someone, _anyone_. Seven minutes pass. No one charges. You sit up but end up rolling off onto the carpeted floor.

Your name is Dave Strider and today is going to be a great day.

Waking up in the living room with no Bro, no smuppet ass and no Cal is a sure sign that today is your lucky day. Even if your face is planted on furry carpet dust. Nothing worse than getting a mouthful of phallus the moment you wake up.

You get up and head upstairs to your room to change from Barney-printed pajamas into something a bit cooler. You open the door and have ice-cold water dumped on you.

What.

You’re holding your arms away from you and staring gawkily at your sopping PJs. Your glasses slip off and all you can do is dramatically scream, “Broooooooooooo!” at the ceiling. You flail—no, wait, Striders don’t flail. You stride backwards and grope on the vanity table (it’s Bro’s, don’t fucking say a word) for anything you can use to wipe the shitty brain-numbing water off. There’s got to be something somewhere, right?

You feel some smooth cloth-like thing on the desk and pull it to yourself. You proceed to faceplant on it. You also feel the urge to kick Bro in the balls.

Your eyes adjust to the window’s bright noon sunlight behind your eyelids, so you fully open them and register your surroundings.

You continue to wipe your face on puppet dicknose.

You freeze.

There’s a note on its butt.

_This shit’s hells absorbent, you’ll see._

You throw the smuppet down the stairs. “GODDAMMIT BRO!”

He’s watching somewhere in here, and you know it, so you cut the complaining to a minimum and shuffle gingerly into your own room and lock it. Wow it just got way hotter in here.

The curtain is down so you take off the shades you shoved onto your nosebridge after throwing the smuppet away, and fuck, did that hurt. You feel your face throbbing while you take your clothes off. Aside from the easily-drying water clinging to every square millimeter of your skin, the sweat on your back and neck and face and everything is making this way more disgusting.

Well, that was still a quick shower. You wipe yourself off with your pajama pants and change into Grinch boxers. Seriously, if you could rate your boxers from one to ten, it would be fif-fucking-teen. You bought most of these off a dude from school. Some guy named Makara, if you remember right.

Yeah, you don’t know why he sells these either.

You complete the Christmas theme by fishing out a maroon wifebeater. You comb your fingers through your hair and check the mirror. That’s good enough. It’ll fall back into the usual do anyway. You place your aviators on your desk.

This room is a fucking mess. No, it’s more than a mess. It’s a fucking countryside swept through by a hurricane and no one will believe you if you told them you just cleaned up the other day. How the everloving dick do you even live here this place is a goddamn pigsty.

You guess your room is……………………trashed.

Okay, that was a terrible pun. You’re mentally jumping off a building right now.

Hopping up on the bed, you slap an apple-shaped sticky note onto your forehead reminding you to clean this shit up. You lie down and take the remote control from under your pillow and hit play. The four speakers mounted on the four corners of your room spew out Goo Goo Dolls, so you sing along to Iris while you wait for sleep to come (even if you just overslept a few minutes ago).

Something caws outside near the stairs. You’re pretty sure it’s cawing downstairs, too. There’s only one thing that makes the fucking sound, and you’re starting to regret agreeing with Bro when he asked you if this was okay.

You hope to God it’s not a travelling salesman, or someone is getting injured.

You groan and roll off the thing you’re lying on (it’s called a bed, Dave, wake up) for the second time today. Trudging out of your room and down the stairs, you peek at the door hole hidden from the outside world by the good ol’ mini Claus figurine. The sticky note falls from your face.

Everyone hold your shit, it’s John fucking Egbert. He’s standing there in a white V-neck shirt and khaki shorts and his hair is a mess oh god why does he look like that.

You clear your mind and take your shit back from everyone. Thank you, everyone, go take a seat.

You open the door and lean on the doorframe like the coolkid you are.

(Yeah, it’s not convincing you either.)

“Hey, what’s up?” You say calmly, which is pretty surprising since just a second ago your shit flipped you.

“Dad just wanted to give this—“ He raises a monkey wrench with his two hands, “—back.”

You’re pretty sure he could’ve done it single handedly. Not like you care or anything, he was probably just flexing some muscle and wow, is it getting hotter every minute or is it just you?

“Oh, yeah, sure. Mind putting it in the microwave for me? I’m not sure I wanna see whatever’s inside anyway.” You step aside and open the door, leading him to the living room, where the microwave is naturally located.

He’s lookin’ confused. Maybe it’s because of the positioning of the microwave. Well, what does he care? It’s not illegal to put appliances wherever you goddamn want, right?

Or maybe it’s because you’re _not_ tense. You’re acting so fucking chill and cordial he doesn’t gots no excuse to not say you’re not being uncordial. Yeah, that sounds right.

“W…Why is your microwave in the living room?”

“None of your business, Johnnykins, just put it in here and get it over with.”

“Don’t order me around, Bossypants! At least _I_ went through the trouble of giving it back, unlike a particular lazyass who lazes around on his ass all day.”

You keep your voice flat even though your head is practically the red part of the thermometer. “What. How can you say that.”

“You’re in sleep clothes, dude! You just woke up, I’m pretty sure!”

“Okay, see, I may be a lazyass, but at least I don’t assume shit from no one!” Wow, the heat is _really_ getting to you two. You feel your frown degrade from invisible to heavy.

John opens the microwave door but keeps the monkey wrench in his hand, snarling now himself. “Well, at least… At least I don’t have freckles!”

Oh, so you’re fuckin’ playing this game now? Shit you’re feeling some serious deep-rooted red anger in here. You step away from him and try to get your cool back.

You don’t stop yourself from saying it, though.

“Well, at least I don’t have a huge overbite,” you mutter a bit too loudly.

He sasses back, but you can see him get insulted. “Well, at least _that_ can be fixed!”

You finally raise your voice a note higher and reply, “My freckles can be fixed, too!”

“Really?” John snorts a bit coldly. “How? By paring them off with a knife?”

“I might just do that!” You tell him and reach for the thick, black hunting knife—you know, the one that looks like Clayton’s from Tarzan—and set it against your skin. Even the handle is scorching hot and you’d yelp if you weren’t used to it.

“What, don’t—“ He grabs your right forearm in two of his hands, stopping you from completely landing the sharp thingy on your left arm.

This kid hates you to the bone, because you stumble to support the weight of a strong chubbish-ass who was trying to pry the knife away from your hand and proceed to bump into the table, its corner digging into your lowest rib, and catch John against your torso.

Well this is a compromising position. Time to get your groove on.

“Hey, man, whatcha gonna do, throw the knife off and kiss my suicidal tendencies away?” You try with a smirk, looking down on your neighbor who is barely leaning on your filthy maroon wifebeater. Good job, you, you cheer yourself somewhat in your really messed up head.

“Wh-What! Of course not!”

“Then why’d you stop me? The Nile’s not just a fuckin’ river in Egypt, Egbert.”

Blue Eyes (wow, you have never let that go, have you?) is fidgeting and he pushes his glasses back up with both hands in a very ineffective way of hiding the blush you can still actually see. He steps away, too, and that did the job for him.

“Pff, what, sh-shut up! I just didn’t want to be a-accused of hate murder by being in the crime scene!” He fumbles and trips on the way to the door until he opens it wide. “You—argh!—You can do that when I get out! Go fuck yourself over, jerk!”

You wave your knife hand over your head, because even if you didn’t understand what the last thing meant, it probably meant something offensive. “Unlovely way to say you care!” You shout.

He leaves you to stare at the slammed door. You catch a smile-like quirk of your lips on your stupid face.

Ohhhhhhh shit.

You’re too in the moment to know Bro is standing in the kitchen hallway, thinking you, his baby Dave bro, may be smitten with one John Egbert. You’re too. Fucking. Distracted.

Your name is Dave Strider and you are in _so much trouble_.


	6. Day 11.04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider and you are not the only one having problems sleeping tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AJKDHSLUFHASKJFHSKJAHFJKSA FINALLY UPDATED THIS SHIT SOBS CREYS
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long???? I have another CET coming up and not yet studying woohoo awyis anyway new chapter so interested to write the next few ones eeeeeep ok bye enjoy????

The owls are hooting somewhere out there, perched on the trees. Your curtain is opened wide for the world to look into your room, and vice versa. You lie on your stomach right-side-up and watch a car or two zoom past the quiet suburban houses in the light of the toenail moon. The wind is blowing outside, and you stand up to open the window because it is seriously hot in here.

It’s 1:37 am and you’re not asleep. You pad back to your bed and leap onto it, bouncing on the mattress. You sit up and grab your pillow, place it at the foot of your bed, and look out into the clear sky.

Your name is Dave Strider and you are on your way to being an insomniac.

It’s not that you don’t want to sleep, really. You’re not a fucking retard like some people, who cause their own insomnia by sleeping late and going to bed not to sleep but to, I don’t know, maybe stay up talking to someone on the phone or maybe just staring off into space being a weirdo who doesn’t know what to do with his/her life. You’re a smart kid. You know that sleep is important for a growing teen. Also that it gets rare when you go to college. You want to savor every moment you have of rest in bed.

Anyway, the thing that’s keeping you up. It’s really not important. Actually, it is probably much more retarded than staying up late writing fictional love stories about fictional people. Probably.

It’s making you go crazy, you know. Overthinking your confused, tangled ball of yarn feelings for an Egbert takes its toll. After all, you’re only human.

A perplexed, mad, insomniac human.

You feel like a typical teenage girl. Like maybe Taylor Swift from You Belong With Me except really fucking confused and you like the boy.

You did not just think that.

You can’t believe you just thought that.

…okay, so maybe you do like John a little. A tiny bit. Not even huge. Like, quarks-huge, maybe.

Not like it’s any help anyway! Fuck, what is there even to like? You mean, yeah, sure, he’s a neat kid and he helps his dad a lot and he’s been very hostile to you and you really like testing those boundaries but that doesn’t even make sense! It’s not like his buckteeth and awkwardness help anything either, Jesus Christ.

You watch his window, waiting for whatever it is that will pass by to get you inspired to go to sleep. His drapes are down and your eyebags are obsolete, unfashionable luggage that were so five centuries ago.

Staring like a creepypasta probably wouldn’t help. You yawn and stand up, leaning to the right, and open your door to head on downstairs. The kitchen beckons you and you clutch the banister with your right hand and your sword with the other.

The lights are off except for the Christmas decor on the porch, but you left your sunglasses upstairs anyway so you take advantage of the moment to test your night vision. You switch your sword hand from left to right and stick to the walls, eventually reach the oven toaster in which you stash your mug, and moon walk back to the fridge.

Opening the door with your butt, you place the mug on the counter and take out a carton of milk. You use your thumb to turn the cap and flick it away.

You know how when you’re really sleepy, you forget things and it feels like a CD skipped scenes in between? Yeah, that happens to you tonight, and you forget that you took a mug and placed it on the nearest counter, so you shut the fridge with your butt again and chug the entire carton of milk.

You really need that sleep.

You’re almost caught off-guard with a rail-shredding Bro, with socks in place of a board. As quickly as you can (which is pretty quick, mind you), you put the carton back in the fridge and slide into the nook between the fridge and the wall. You hold your breath as if underwater and wait.

Your brother slips into the kitchen, checks for any Daves around to midnight strife with, and backs away quietly. You wait for five more minutes after hearing his door close and his lock click until you slip out of the cranny and lean against the counter.

Oh, there’s your mug.

You stare at it fruitlessly and give up, sitting on the same tile-top and hanging your head low.

Tick. Egbert. Tock. John. Tick. Dork. Tock. Weirdo. Tick. John. Tock. Egbert.

Somehow the milk isn’t working, and the entire Broincidence ollies out of your mind.

You try sorting out your feelings for 1 (one) John Egbert.

“He’s a dork.”

_Yeah, but he’s pretty chill._

“Chill enough to cry like a baby on the porch, unironically.”

_Dude, he lost his mom! What the fuck is wrong with you?!_

“What’s wrong with me? I comforted the shit outta him, for jebus’s sake!”

_Yeah, and that’s when he caught your eye and you went weak for him._

“Hey, hey, no one’s going weak here.”

_Really? Dave, you’re awake at 2 am and you’ve been thinking about him for the past ten hours._

“Ten? More like twenty. Plus four.”

_You’re not helping your case, man._

“Neither am I by talking to myself.”

You stop at that. Right. Talking to yourself. Not cool.

Well, what _did_ get you to start liking him? Was it the big teeth, or the thick glasses, or the nerdy geek shirts? Are you really _that_ superficial?

What is it? Is it the way his stupid crystal eyes glance at you so murderfully that you took it as a challenge to change it? How about the way he is cooler than you even if he is a total dumbass and you’re supposed to be the cool one? Or howsies ‘bout the way he cried so fucking freely on your shoulder when he was back on his porch that first night? His aderpable behavior—haha, nice one, you, high-fives to that except high-fiving yourself is not healthy—that makes everyone, even _the_ Dirk Strider, act so sweetly to him? His feet-shuffling, or pants-twiddling, or nervous lip-biting, or everything?

Maaaaan, you don’t know.

Everything seems so fucking pointless. There’s got to be more.

Wait, hold up, why are you trying to redeem this likey thing you have for him anyway? Isn’t it easier to let it go, knowing that you like him for no apparent reason? Earth to Dave, your brain cells are obviously extra-dying because you need sleep.

You comb your hair back and hop off the counter. You Striderly (synonym for magical-ninja-ghost-like-ly) climb up the redwood stairs and spin into your room, literally. You did this waltz-like spin from the vanity table into your room. What even.

(There’s a black mic-like object hidden behind the cow cookie jar across from where you sat. The yellow blinking light is muted by the thick fake leaves of the thick fake plant you have on the table.)

You lock your door and jump onto the bed. As you always do, you feel for the remote and hit play. The mounted speakers now hum out the theme song for Up. After that will be many more remakes and transposed versions of the same song. You lay your head onto the pillow and pull the plush yellow duck you won at the fair (!!!! take serious amounts of notes bitches) from under the blanket.

(The curtain from the room across yours pulls away a few inches, streetlamp light hitting the window and the glasses worn by the person peeking from behind all of it. It stays like that for ten-ish seconds and drops back right after.)

Your name is Dave Strider and you are not the only one having problems sleeping tonight.


	7. Day 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are Dirk Strider and you and Dave are probably the two biggest noobs for your neighbors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHA fuck so I updated thank you me. Gosh hi I'm so sorry but senior life's being hard for me and I don't know why. Please forgive me and also have some brownies. They are laid out on the table, help yourselves.

Water droplets are splattered against the living room windows. The wooden panels of the porch are soggy and damp, and you regret leaving your sandals out there. The sun and rain are in some sort of love-hate relationship and are trying to outshine one another from their perches in the late morning sky.

The lawn grass is half-mowed, the little tractor thing soaking up some hydrogen under the bright, indecisive heavens. Summer rain is a blessing and you’d be a stinkin’ old coot to curse it. Even for the ironies, it’d be a shameful act. Weather is kind of a touchy subject when it comes to irony.

You are Dirk Strider and this is not your story. It is, in fact, your brother’s.

Holy shit. This _isn’t_ your story. Why are you narrating. Goddamn author must be out of her mind or in a writer’s block. Poor fucker.

(She also told you not to break fourth wall, but sorry, bitch, you’re a rebel.)

Anyway. What were you gonna say? Oh, Dave. Right.

Dave’s sitting ‘cross you in the kitchen, hands covering his ears. He’s singing this High School Musical 2 song, though you ain’t sure if Sharpay or Troy sang it.

If y’all wanna know, Drama Queen Dave is acting up ‘cause you opened up about John.

Yay, flashback.

_“Dave.”_

_“What.”_

_“I like that Egbert kid.”_

_“So?”_

_“That’s a confidential vote of fuck yeah from the entire congress.”_

And that’s the flashback.

Now he’s doing some weird transition from Sharpay/Troy into Phantom of the Opera. You gotta get this kid away from his turntables.

“Shit, Dave, I know ya like him but try—“

He slams both hands on the table. “Whoa, fuck, _what_? I do _not_ like him!”

“Yer voice just went up an octave.”

“Did not!”

You cough and point to your throat, an eyebrow raised. He shifts back to his terribly faulty teenage voice.

“Did not,” he says again.

“Right, kid, who’m I fuckin’ with.”

You take out your recorder and slide it to him on the table. He’s all ‘whoa what the shit is this’ and takes the gizmo in his long hands.

He hits play and listens to his voice in thick silence, accompanied by the low buzz of the fridge. He goes white then red then he slams stop on the gadget.

You’re tryin’ _so hard_ not to laugh. Maybe you will when you watch it later from the secret cam attached to the underside of the table.

You just waggle your eyebrows at him and do this sly, creepy grin that you’ve probably practiced for months in front of the mirror.

Ya ain’t tellin’ no one you’ve been waiting to use this one on Dave, and damn does it feel good.

He tries to get up and leave by pushing the chair back, but you pull it closer to the table by hooking your foot around its leg. That makes him tear up, with the edge of the table smack against his chest.

“Bro!” He chokes out.

“Ain’t not gonna talk about this shit, li’l dude,” you tell him. He huffs and crosses his arms above the table.

“Tell me, Dave. D’ya like John or not? Ya know I’m gon’ pull the evidence card out on ya so don’t try ta say nu-uh.”

He grumbles, “Do I gots a choice?”

“Just…fuckin’ confirm or whatever, sass pants.”

You both glare at each other. Little amateur thinks he’s tough enough to not crack, but he can’t horse around with you. Not today.

He finally answers after a minute. “Fine, I do. So what?”

“So what?” You scoff and stand up. “So what is y’all should stop chickening out and make a move!”

“I ain’t even sure if I do like ‘im ‘smuch as I think I do! Can’t even get a hold o’ the reason why I do.”

Aww, Dave’s pulling out the accent! You love annoying the chump. He goes back to Southern when he’s close to mad.

Alright, whatevs. You try to be a normal brother for a while.

“Hey, kid, look. Ya try ta approach ‘im the way you wanna, ‘kay? Like, maybe install a telegram from yer room to his, or cup phones. Overrated shit, I know, but be yerself. Better he hates ya for who y’are, than he likes ya for the pretentious fucktard y’are.”

“He already hates me, Bro.”

“That’s ‘cause yer being an insufferable prick!” You hit him behind the head and dip his chair backwards. “Now ya stop being a fuckass, haul yer precious rump next door and talk to him!”

Dave winces each time your saliva splatters at his face, then groans and slides under the table and upstairs.

The chump’s impossible. You know better than to follow him because the last time he stormed off like that, you followed him, went to bed and almost lay down in a mattress of thumb tacks.

He sorta doesn’t like people meddling with his p-biz.

What do you mean everyone hates people meddling with their p-biz? That’s real? Like, really? That actually happens? A lot? Oh. Alright.

You shrug it off then go outside. There’s nothing like mowing the lawn in the pouring acid rain. You hop onto the seat and restart your chore when a low, fatherly voice calls your name.

“Dirk, why are you mowing in this downpour?”

You turn to the direction of the voice and raise an eyebrow. It’s Man Egbert.

“Please come in out of the rain. You might get sick, you know!”

Sigh. You sit there and kinda just subtly watch him talk because shit. This is the guy. The one who makes your kokoro go doki-doki for weird, inexplicable reasons.

“Dirk? Do you hear me?”

“What,” you zone back in. “Oh, yep, I…” Then you just sorta stand up and run into his porch.

You take off your cap and damn if that didn’t just gain thrice its weight in water.

Jeff looks up at you, pipe in his mouth and sleeves rolled up. “See? You’re dripping wet.”

“Yeah I am,” you mumble.

“You should go home and change.”

“Yeah I should.”

“Get going,” he pats your arm and you just about fucking freeze.

“Can’t. My house is all the way o’er there and I’m all the way o’er here and…I think I’m gettin’ dizzy.”

Smooth, Strider. You applaud yourself and lean on the banister-thing of the porch. Egbert furrows his eyebrows and nods. You thank your background of being in a theater workshop and org back in the day.

“Oh. Alright. I’ll let you stay and you could borrow an umbrella when the rain lets up a tad bit. Do you want some coffee?”

Though you’re soppin’ wet and are actually living pretty much next to him, he leads you into his house for warm drinks. He ain’t got a clue that _you_ just led _him_ into your trap.

Feels great, ain’t it?

You are Dirk Strider and you and Dave are probably the two biggest noobs for your neighbors.


	8. Day 19.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is John Egbert and you can feel this guy silently judging you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I AM SO SORRY?????  
> I still have school but I only go to it for graduation practices now so mehehe I am so sorry for this VERY LATE update. But yeah here you go?? It is also in celebration of me passing my dream college. Ivy League woot woot omg I am sorry I will not keep you any longer I know I suck this is bullshit please enjoy this chapter have some red velvet cupcakes  
> also advanced apologies because idk how to sollux or eridan or karkles

The week-long rain has created pools out of puddles in your yard. Mud, grass, little pebbles and a bit of trash swirl around in ground bowls of nature soup just a bit off your porch. The early morning sun makes the still-damp grass glisten with the mixture of dew and rain water. The storm’s let up, and it’s the first day of sunshine after seven of dull, gray clouds.

You've been locked up indoors the entire time, and you’re not going to pretend that you hate going out, because wow that sunshine is pretty fine. The windows are still dotted with water droplets and you sit up from your bed immediately to take a glance at that spectacular suburban view. Birds chirping, trees waving in the wind and splattering passers-by with water, a lone car driving by, a dog shitting by the neighbors’ house… This is the life.

Your name is John Egbert and today feels like a glorious day.

The storm that came by didn't let anyone out of their houses, except maybe Dirk from next door. You don’t count him in the list, though, since he’s not anyone. He came by every other day to check on you guys and stuff like that, but you’re not stupid and so you know he was probably pulling out the moves on your Dad.

(What a weird thought to think so early in the morning.)

Anyway, aside from that, there was no other sign of the Striders. Unless you count that time you noticed someone peeking through the maroon curtains from the room directly across yours, aka Dave’s room. Other than that, nothing else, and you’re okay with that. Totally okay. In fact, you think you’re so okay with it that you won’t even mind if any of them were to come over for no known reason.

You decide to finally get up off the bed and take a walk outside. Changing from your PJs into some casual cargo shorts and a shirt, you hop into your sneakers and head on downstairs.

“Well, someone’s up early,” Dad greets you, the day’s papers in his hands and a pipe in his mouth. He’s situated on the fatherly armchair near the window. You grin at him with a wave of “good morning!”

You walk into the dining room and Dad’s still talking, so you listen closely. As you pluck up some French toast from the breakfast table, you hear him say, “I was planning on having the Striders over for dinner tonight, but of course I don’t want to do so without your thoughts on it.”

You chew on the toast for a while before peeking your head out to look at him in the living room. “Mm?”

“Is it fine if we have them over tonight?”

The thoughts of just a few minutes ago flit back into your head and you think your words just went all up in your face. Talk about things biting you back in the butt.

“Uh, yeah, n-no problem, Dad! Whatever you want to do is fine with me!”

“Is something wrong, son?” One point for Dad.

“No, Dad. I’m good,” you say carefully as you take a bite out of one of the toasts you have in your hands.

He furrows his brows at you and you stare right at him as innocently as you can. “What?” You say.

Dad shakes his head. “Where are you off to this early?”

You swallow the remnants of the previous toast. “Just going to walk around the neighborhood. It’s about time I learned my way alone anyway.”

“Are you sure you can do it alone? I could ask the Stri—“

“I’m good, Dad! Totally! Yeah, I can do this all on my own. Around town. For the first time. Yep, independent John, that’s me!”

Dad eyes you warily but you quickly duck under his gaze and breathe out a “’kay see you later bye!” before stuffing your mouth with more toast. 

Shutting the door behind you, you pause and suck in a deep breath. Until you realize that you still have a chewed up, mushy whatever of bread-and-butter in there.

You proceed to choke in place of sighing out of relief.

The woman watering her flowers (after the rain, with still-pretty-moist soil and plants, yes) across your own yard looks around like she just heard a very tiny dog barking, or trying to. She doesn't notice you, luckily, because you quickly cross from your house to behind the Striders’. You continue walking away briskly, attempting to not cough and choke some more lest you wanted attention. There’s no one outside or awake yet in this household, from what you can tell. Good. You don’t want any trouble or annoyance at a quarter to eight.

You successfully make it to the end of the street without encountering familiar people and pause for a second. There’s a fork in the road, or something more like an intersection. How convenient.

 _Left or right?_ Definitely not straight ahead, because that would be too simple.

You check your left. A long stretch of road that leads you downtown where, from what you've gathered, you can find the supermarket and a bunch of restaurants and shops.

Going right would lead you to a curved road going somewhere parallel to straight ahead, you guess. You heard there’s an exotic pet shop with geckos and lizards down this road.

You choose the left road, but the moment you do, two kids around your age are running away, screaming. One had a yellow vest and multicolored shades; the other had a weird striped scarf and hipster glasses.

“What in the—?” You mumble.

“Run, kid! Scram!” The one guy with the hipster glasses shouts at you.

His friend—assuming they’re friends—looks behind him and hisses at you. “Move you imbethile! Don’t jutht thtand there!”

Obviously you don’t get the hint. (They’re not even hints anymore, they’re fucking shoutwarnings.) You just gawk there and say, “Huh?”

Then you get it.

A rabid dog is chasing them to the right road, which would be straight ahead for them. It’s probably a German shepherd, but its fur is caked with mud and it has a bajillion cheese balls clinging to its coat that you don’t even think you’re sure anymore.

Its frothy drool is dripping out of its open mouth, and it doesn’t look like it’s sparing you from the chasing it’s been doing to these two guys.

You decide to run with them.

“Took you a while to get it!” The hipster glasses guy shouts at you, who are a bit behind them. The strain from running and the wind was probably making you hear things, but you think he stuttered or prolonged or overpronounced (whatever that meant) his w.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you pant as you run, admitting what was obvious.

“We pelted Jackie with cheethe ballth after she fell in a mud pool,” the dude with the yellow vest briefth you. You mean _briefs_ you. God that’s contagious.

They turn right and you just follow. The two guys know this place a whole lot better than you do. Well, duh. They probably lived in this neighborhood in forever. They hop over a border made of flower pots and bushes and sneak through an alley, all the while the dog still at your heels.

“Um, guys,” you plead. “Dog’s still here?”

“Jutht a thec.”

Two seconds later, the guy in the yellow vest grabs your wrist and wrenches you with him.

It all goes far too quickly but as you close your eyes to brace for impact you hear the jingling of a wind chime and the sound outside fades and the cold air hits your sweaty shirt. You hit something poofy, probably the guy’s vest, and sort of just stand still.

You open your eyes when you hear lizard sounds.

The yellow vest guy awkwardly pushes you away and you grin sheepishly. “Sorry.”

You look around. Geckos and salamanders and turtles and insects of different kinds reside in terrariums and cages on shelves and against walls. Turning around, you see that the guy with the hipster glasses talking to someone in gray long sleeves and a white apron, though you can’t see his face because a yellow collar is in your line of vision’s way.

“So you fucking decide to use my dad’s shop as a safe house _again_?!”

“It was a rabid dog, Kar! Jegus can’t you spare us one second of your incessant whinin’ to even remember we’re friends?” His dragging w’s are starting to annoy you but you keep looking around, the pet shop creeping you out and amazing you at the same time.

“Of all people. You and Captor. Again. Why am I even friends with you fucked up dillweeds?”

“Hey! We got thith kid, too!”

You guess that’s your cue. You startle and turn around slowly, trying to come up with something apologetic to say.

“I, uh, yea…h?” is what you pick out. Great choice of words, Egbert. You’re going to make awesome friends with this guy.

The teenage guy in the gray long sleeves does the pirate eye on you.

Your name is John Egbert and you can feel this guy silently judging you.


	9. Day 19.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider and your rep is so ruined (to John, at least).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omfg finally an update????? I am so fucking sorry for not updating in the longest time possible. I thought I'd be free this summer but college shit had to be dealt with and so uh yeah?? Here goes please don't kill me  
> (Also the Grand Homestuck Ball is in 19 days fuck I'm gonna cry)  
> ((I can't Karkat if my life depended on it I'm sorry I'll do intense research next time))

The sun is back to its scheduled asshole hotseat session at 10:45. You'd think that at this time it'd choose to be pretty mild, especially since the rain just stopped bugging the area around 12 hours ago, but no, the attention whore of a large star just begs for the fame it lost for the past week.

The road is radiating the heat right back at you. Walking is testing your patience as it adds to the heat, energy wasted on good ol' basic skills no one even needs to think about to do. Unless you were placed in a state with this level of heat. Yeah, you'd think twice, too, if you lived in Texas and had to walk somewhere. You notice a daisy at Mr. Kelly's yard seems pretty bright yellow today, as if shouting at the world that it's so happy to see the sun today.

Your name is Dave Strider and fuck that daisy.

You're on your way to the repair shop just a few blocks away from your place to retrieve that vacuum cleaner Bro left there for them to fix. You turn right and switch streets from Orion (your street) to Pleiades (the repair shop's street).

You picture the shop in your head and you will never be able to separate it from the other shops situated beside it. Animal shop, ice cream parlor, toy store, repair shop, book store, Apple store.

The Apple store sticks out like a sore thumb at the corner of the street, since everyone expected it to be built downtown where the main highways were. It's cool, you guess. The tech shop brought more attention to the little shops beside it, too. It was good business for them, and that was good for everyone else.

Why does Bro even need that vacuum cleaner? He doesn't even clean the house! The only time he did was when the Egberts came over and--

Oh.

Okay. So that's what he's up to huh. Alrighty then.

You turn right and keep walking. There's that shortcut with turning alleys and shit but you only use that in emergencies, say, if a dog was chasing you. Besides, it's an almost beautiful day. It'd be perfect if you weren't all out sweatin' your pits.

Fifteen minutes later and you're slinging an old-fashioned, heavy duty, red vacuum on your back.

The guy behind the counter (a teenager around your age, Equius if you remember correctly) mutters goodbye and places his hand on the glass display case. You're not sure if you heard the glass crack when he did.

You look to the left and look to the right before crossing the busy street. Except it isn't busy at all.

You proceed to do a painful double take that hits your head against the metal-and-plastic handle of the vacuum.

Kid Egbert is standing across the street, his back to you, and he's with Karkat the Grouch.

Now that wouldn't be weird if it was that simple, but Vantas was a) not frowning b) not shouting (at the top of his lungs that is) c) actually talking to a stranger d) who is in his age group e) with a blush on his deformed face and f) his hands in his pockets all casual and chill like.

Woah okay shit that was the weirdest mental image ever.

Okay no it wasn't a mental image, but you damn wish it was.

You don't like that image. I mean yeah it's disgusting and shit but it seems so fucking ominous, like damn this guy may be diggin' your Egbert (knock on wood thrice, bitch).

You decide to jog over and bump Vantas with the vacuum.

"Hey Egs," you greet with a hit of the vacuum against the pale grouch beside you. He lets out a grunt of "oomph" but you turn a blind eye on it.

"Uh, hi, Dave," John replies, a flash of concern in his sapphire eyes. He glances at Karkat and he mutters, "I'm fine."

"You've probabIy me--"

"Yeah, Karkat Damien Vantas. We've been classmates since second grade. Used to snatch all my pencils."

"I thought they were mine, fuckwad!"

"Could've asked before you took 'em," you argue.

"Well, if you had--"

"Guys, please...?" John awkwardly coughs and you slap your hand to Vantas's mouth to shut him up. He tries to claw your hand away but you're firm and just keep it there like your hand was made for this shit.

"Right, just remembered. Your dad's lookin' for ya. Asked me to come find you."

The little derp gasps, his mouth forming a perfect little 'o', and that's fucking adorable.

"Oh gosh! He must be worried! I should go home now but I...sort of don't...know where I am. Hehe."

"I could walk you home, if I have to," Karkat suggests, brows furrowed and back on the consciously screaming level. "As long as it's not a fucking kilometer away."

Oh fuck no. "Nah. No need, we live by each other so yeah." You shoot the manstealing asshole a genuine Back Off Or Die You Fucking Retard look.

He growls at the back of his throat, and you just smirk at him. You got this. You fucking own this game.

"Just go straight ahead, I'll catch up," you tell John. He nods and walks on but he keeps glancing behind him at you two.

"Why do you know his dad?" Karkat interrogates you immediately, his hand clutching your upper arm.

"Firstly, ow," you detach from his claws. "And second, we're neighbors. Can't miss any of the two goofballs."

"You fucking live next to each other? Unfair bastard, when I get my--"

You tut at him and mockingly shake your head. "Really, Vantas, keep your eyes, nose and appendages off my territory. Crawl back to the asteroid you were born on, Shouty."

John stares at you, annoyed.

"What," you drawl.

He crosses his arms and taps a foot.

"Keep walking."

"I don't know where to go, doofus! I'd have gotten home an hour ago if I did!"

You straighten up and step forward. "Right. Sorry."

The bucktoothed wonder rolls his eyes at you. You do a lameass two-handed W back at him and turn your back momentarily. You give Vantas a pointed look and quirk an eyebrow in goodbye. Then you jog away from the poor shitbag.

He is probably left staring at your dust or inhaling it but whatevs. You drove your point home clearly. _Very_ clearly.

"What was _that_ about?" Egbert asks, following your lead as you go straight ahead.

"What was what about?"

" _That_ ," he repeats. "The talk between you and Karlkat. Was that Karlkat?"

You actually choke on your spit and have to cough for the next three minutes.

"Karkat. It's Karkat," you choke out.

"Ohhhhhhh. So that's why Sol and Eridan were looking at me weirdly when I called his name."

Upon hearing the names, you pause and turn to your neighbor. "You actually met those two?"

"Uh, yeah? Duh? What's the matter?"

"Nothin', nothin'. They're...okay. I guess."

You turn left eventually and are back on your houses' street.

"Wait. We're here already?" John asks, annoyance, amazement, disbelief and regret tinging his voice. You nod, readjusting the vacuum cleaner on your back.

"It was that near?"

"Yep."

"Then why did Sollu--"

"Those two like making complex, elaborate shit out of basic, simple shit. Did they use the backyard maze or the alley?"

"Alley. I think."

You smirk and look at him, walking backwards. "Typical. Chased by Brennan's dog?"

"It was a dog, yeah."

"Knew it." 

"I have no fucking idea what you are talking about."

"I'll explain later," you turn back to the road. "But for now--"

You stop, and John hits your back (well, the vacuum cleaner). You get a soft landing, though, because there, in front of you, is Terezi Pyrope stealing a kiss from you.

You stagger back and step on John. "What the--?"

"Hi, Cherry Lips!" She cackles.

Your name is Dave Strider and your rep is so ruined (to John, at least).


	10. Day 19.9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is John Egbert and why the hell are you jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the juiciest of chapters I am gomen. But hey I updated??? Also it is May 4.
> 
> May the Fourth be with you. //killed
> 
> (I have been watching too much Community sorry.)

The sky is a beautiful dark purple tonight. Light wisps of clouds pass by the huge, spherical moon, acting like a shawl of water vapor to cover the shoulders of the great pearl up above. Stars dust the clouds, like glitters scattered by a child trying to make a sparkly cape for Batman. Damn, that's really not going to do for him blending in the dark.

Bats fly to and from their resting places, setting the quiet night aspark with playful chatter and flapping wings. Passersby coming home from work or going off to night shifts walk quietly, as if in a wonderland that need not be disturbed. The entire area is a lucid, dreamlike haze of cool wind, lush evening greenery and streetlights. Until a bat flies near them, then they scream expletives and flail awkwardly, running straight and away to find safety and solitude in the nearest shelter.

Your name is John Egbert and bats are totally awesome.

At least that's what you think to yourself as you stroll in your front yard beside Dad, both of you on your way to send the brothers Strider home. Which is like a hopscotch away from yours and you're not sure why you even need to do this.

"Everythin' was perfect, just as expected," Bro tells Dad as he walks beside him.

Dad chuckles and shrugs. "Expected? You were expecting?"

Bro glances behind, catching Dave's eye as he speaks. "Just gave it a bit o' thought since, y'know, the cake back then?"

You notice him speed up walking a bit, and Dad strides (wow, you did _not_ just use that) longer to keep pace. He speaks but Dave's voice overlaps with his.

"All okay?" He nudges your arm with his elbow. He's right beside you, walking at the same pace, hands in his pockets.

"Yep! Totally fine," you answer, bucktoothed grin in check. You're not sure why he's asking, you are nothing but peachy and attentive.

Dave shrugs. "You were out of it a while ago. Like, not perfectly in sync? Not that I was watchin' though. I just noticed."

You furrow your brows. "I was? That's not how I saw it..."

"Well, 'course. You weren't sitting beside yourself asking yourself to pass the curry thrice."

"What! Thrice!"

He nods. "Something buggin' ya?"

You shake your head. Of course not! Why would you be bugged by anything? Nothing bothersome happened today. Meeting new people, having a delicious dinner. Aside from that, it was all good.

"Who was that girl from a while ago?" is what you catch yourself say, however.

Dad and Dave's older brother have already gone inside the Strider residence, but you and Dave hang in the front yard. Dave trips on a small stone (which turns out to be petrified dog poop) and looks at you.

"Girl? Which one?"

You don't like playing this stupid game one bit.

"I'm not sure, Dave, maybe that girl who was probably the only female human being we ever met on the way home? I really don't know, though, there were quite a lot!"

"Sarcasm is the lowest way of getting shit through you know."

You roll your eyes.

"That was Terezi. She's a...schoolmate." He kicks the petrified shit away and continues. "We've been friends for a long while. Why're you asking anyway?"

You shrug and pull on the hem of your shirt. "Just curious, I guess?"

Dave faces you, black aviators reflecting your moonlit face. "Nope. No way."

"What?"

"You're jealous. Hah."

"Am not!" You shove him.

"Are, too. Oh, fucking fishsticks, you're jealous."

"Dammit I'm not! I was just wondering why in Nic Cage's glorious name you would let a stranger kiss you on the street! And then it turns out she was your friend and that...doesn't...make sense either but it works!"

He takes your hand in his and squeezes it. "No worries, John. She ain't got nothin' on you."

You pull your left hand back quickly, repulsed. Luckily, the pale moonlight doesn't betray how red you've gotten. Hopefully. You clutch your hand to your chest with the other one and step back.

"Don't touch me, ass burger!"

You regret it the moment you blurt it out.

"Ow, Egbert. Ouch. That actually stung. Ass burger?" Dave dramatically groans in pain. "It hurts, man. It hurts. Right here." He points to the right side of his chest.

"It hurts your...manboobs?"

"That's muscle, John. And yes. It hurts my pecks. But yeah okay whatevs, ya caught me. Terezi was actually my ex-girlfriend."

"Ex, huh."

"Yeah, back when there was nothing called 'sanity' and 'sexuality'. Luckily, you adapt to nature. You develop them when you're past freshman year. 'Cept for her, that broad's gone too deep."

Bro chooses to stick his head out the front door right then. You have no idea where the heck Dad is.

"'Ey, twerp. Someone's on the phone for ya."

Dave grunts and says, "Wonder who the fuck that is. I hope that's not the speak of the mustachioed devil. Lates." He jogs to the door.

"You do know the word 'later' is already short enough, right?"

He snorts and tootles his fingers at you.

You look around for any signs of your father. When you see the living room lamp from the window, though, you decide to just go home.

(Although you're not sure if that means Dad left you and is inside, or you really left the lamp turned on before going outside.)

You walk home, passing through the yard and settling on the sidewalk. So Dave's had a girlfriend before. That means he's not gay.

Pretty cool. You were totally convinced otherwise. I mean hey, when you catch the dumbass twerking in his room at 9:30 in the evening, you really have less conclusions.

Terezi, from what you've seen, is a cute girl. She has shoulder-length black hair and a fair, if not pale, complexion (much like a certain ass burger). You did not, however, see her eye color. She wore thirty-years-ago-or-something red tinted shades that hid her eyes from whoever wanted to look.

She seems nice, really. Aside from the fact that she kissed her ex-boyfriend in public. That was a bit creepy and just shocking.

You open the screen door and slide inside, quickly making your way upstairs to your room.

You open the door and grin at the beautiful sight. The moonlight is half-streaming into your room, patches of pale whitish blue surrounding your bed. You pull a beanbag to the window and flop down, sinking into it.

Leaning your head back, you catch a glimpse of upside down Dave in his brightly lit room, obviously not enjoying the moon like you are.

He's looking into something and he leans forward. He makes ridiculous poses and, if you were to guess Dave was looking at his reflection at either a mirror or a webcam.

(You hope it was the first one, for some reason.)

Dave puckers up and double pistols at the mirror/whatever. You giggle even though you sound insane and cover your mouth.

_Cherry Lips._

Of course she'd know how they taste. She was once his girlfriend. They probably made out a lot.

_Cherry Lips._

She seemed like a totally radical girl, though. You're not sure how she ended up with Dave back then. Dave kind of _is_ a boring piece of crap.

_Cherry Lips._

Dave and she just laughed the kiss off, saying they've done that a lot so why be embarrassed (but Dave seemed particularly stiff about it). But wow okay they split up now so is that still normal, or...?

Cherry Lips, huh.

Your name is John Egbert and why the hell are you jealous.


	11. Day 24.6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider and you're pretty damn serious about those sparks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAH HELLO FELLOWS MY FIRST DAY OF COLLEGE WAS A SUCCESS. IT WAS WONDERFUL. FOR NOW I AM IN LOVE WITH MY COURSE. SO FAR MY PROFESSORS ARE WONDERFUL. YES AH COLLEGE LIFE THIS IS PRETTY CHILL. AT LEAST UNTIL HELL WEEK ARRIVES.
> 
> I had a quiz on my first meeting in Social Sciences like what the actual fuck man. It was easy though as I...had my notes open. Heh. Anyway. This is a little gift from me to you. Because I love you all. Also, Caitlin, I know you'd be reading this, I adore your gift, I have a Homestuck friend here who is jelly and I miss you guys. CAITLIIIIIN.

The afternoon sun lazily spills its light upon the neighborhood. It's close to early evening and the trees are slowly adapting to nature with more muted colors in comparison to high noon's fantastic neon color-level eye-hurt spectrum. Birds nest up on branches above you and hum soft tweets to each other, a language you clearly do not understand but appreciate anyway. Like Esperanto. Or French.

(You were just kidding. You understand French. You can even speak French for the embassy and have to come back thrice just because they like to hear you speak the language so fluently.)

Sprinklers spit water at you from your own yard, cool water fizzling like soda carbon on your hot skin. You're not even going to joke about that one because it's too true it hurts. If it was up to you, you would choose to loosen up soil from beneath the grass and roll around in it like a pig. Sadly, it is not up to you. And you are wearing something white. You'll have to scrub your own clothes manually (and ruin your manicure). You wish you were wearing something black instead.

Your name is Dave Strider and your brain is melting.

There's absolutely nothing to do, and it is the most boring summer ever. You'd think vacation would be fun, but your thoughts are straying somewhere no one's should ever go but yours is starting to and it's totally bad.

_God, I wish school was back on._

You pull the lawn chair beside the sprinkler nearest to you and sit there, soaking yourself. In a few minutes, more than 75% of your clothing is drenched. You think maybe you don't mind spending time here all day, away from Bro's badgering, and time off from your playlists and mixes, and probably even the constant nagging thought of Egbert hanging around your head.

You've trained yourself to build firewalls over thoughts like that upon order, so once you finish thinking the name, everything in your head goes dead quiet again aside from the outside noises of the spitting of the sprinklers and your own shallow breathing.

Naturally, though, Satan has it out for you.

"If it wasn't this hot right now, I would have laughed my butt off at how you look."

Dainty little John Egbert himself talks to you at a distance of his own yard. He's got a glass of lemonade and his tongue darts out to snatch the straw into his mouth. You swallow audibly and hope to God the sound doesn't reach him.

"I have to admit, I'm jealous though? I mean, the only thing that's stopping me is having to go inside my house dripping wet. I don't wanna clean up that mess." He's stepped into your turf, his free hand adjusting his dorky glasses over his face. John offers you his glass. "Lemonade?"

You also hope you're not fucking gaping. Recovering as quickly as you can, you take the glass he's offered and wonder if you should sip through his straw as well. "Well, someone's extraordinarily chatty today," you say, and inwardly applaud the snark in your voice. "What's gotten into ya, the heat reach your head?"

He chuckles, the sound coming off as awkward and nervous. "I hope so."

You gulp down half the sweet tangy drink and hand him back the glass. "What brings you to my kingdom, King Overbite, ruler of the orthodontic army?"

He gives you the pirate look. God, it's been a long time since you first saw that. He still looks adorably snappy even if you've seen how...adorably snappy he actually is. There's really not much deposit of self-restraint to withdraw from. You could just kiss him.

(You've wanted to, fucking hell you've wanted to for so long you just never let your thoughts stray so far. Where are your fucking firewalls now, Strider?)

"I just wanted to hang out since it was getting really boring inside, but if you're gonna be a douche about me finally acting friendly then I guess I'll just brood alone again."

Egberto makes a show of turning around and walking off but you grab his wrist and hey this is new and cliche and dear Jesus Christ you are becoming a sap.

"Hey hey no fair, you came to play, man. You gotta play along."

He gets pulled back by you and he staggers but he turns and laughs. "Jeez, Dave, I hope people don't joke around you much because you really don't know how to take one." He glances at the hand you have on his wrist and you take it back, but the touch burns like the sun snuggled into the small space between you two.

"Neither do you, jackass."

He frowns.

"Kidding. See? I know how to joke around."

"Guess I really should leave—"

"Ow, ow, God, my heart. It's breaking, you've hurt me with your harsh words. Oh John I don't think I'm ever gonna recover, I'm done for, tell Oprah I love her," you say in a flat voice and flail under your sprinkler.

"Dave, you're getting me wet, stop flailing!"

"Well, that sounds kinky but if you—"

"Gross," John chokes out.

You snicker at his face, and he laughs as well.

It's really weird, bonding like this with this goofy little chump. You've already gotten used to his hostile little game and were doing pretty well with it, but apparently someone's got a change of plans and starts acting so adorable and friendly and less mean and no one even fucking sent you a memo and you've gone off your rocker again and off your game and it's all this bastard's fault.

Shouts of, "Hey, there you are!" interrupt your train of thought and John looks at the source of the noise and grins and eagerly waves.

Fuck, how cute can this boy even get, is this fucking legal. You're pretty sure it's not. Fuck.

"Oh and Thrider'th here, too, nithe of you to join the party, chumpath."

You don't even spare a glance at the two visitors. You slam your head back against your lawn chair very violently and repeatedly and silently pray for the merciful celestial beings up there to save you from your misery.

After a moment, you speak, still not looking. "Hi, Captor, Brought your girlfriend along, I see."

"Who you callin' a girl, motherfucker?"

"Yeah, hi, Ampora. Not denyin' the endearment, I see. That's always an improvement. When did you finally admit you're in love with Thollux?"

If humans can hiss, Sollux just did.

"Oops, I think I offe—"

"Dave, stop," John tells you sternly.

"Right. You're all friends now. Shit, no one sides with me anymore," you prop up an elbow to look at him.

He keeps the reprimanding look at you. You bare your teeth in an emotionless, obviously fake grin and he chucks his straw at you. You stick a tongue out and he walks to his newfound friends, drinking the rest of the cold drink right on the part of the rim where you did. (The mark your lips left on it is still visible, and made even more so when he drank there himself.) You have absolutely no fucking idea why but that sends a tingle down from your chest through your legs and into your toes, leaving a bit of fluttering in your stomach.

"What's up, guys?" John grins at them, and watching from the sidelines it's still as brilliant as the morning sun. How is that possible.

"Not much. We're seein'-eye dogs for today for a certain bossy fucktard an'—"

"—he keepth thaying he'th got to talk to you, he'th got to—"

"—won't stop yammerin', what a retarded fuck—"

"—Thrider'th a big fucking lother and he thuckth dickth—"

"Hey!" You interrupt.

"Wait, wait, what are you guys talking about?" John snorts, obviously trying to contain his laughter, probably because he's looking at you and can vouch for how idiotic you look.

"Shut up, fucksticks. Keep talking and you both make absolute doofuses of yourselves _and_ me."

"Oh." Your neighbor breathes quietly, eyebrows uniting with his hairline. "Hi, Karkat...?"

(The possessiveness of the word "your" seems to always follow with a noncommittal term between the two of you. Something bothers you about that. You swat the feeling away, though.)

Vantas seems to realize John just spoke to him and gapes. Sollux hits his arm, and this time he talks a mile a minute.

"Hi, what's— I mean, hey how are— No, I'm," he coughs awkwardly. "Fuck."

Unconsciously, you glare at him, but you keep your pokerface on, shades doing a pretty fine job of disguising your eyes. Karkat, pale to the point of gray and sickly-looking, crosses his arms across his chest and stares at the ground.

John frowns at this and puts a hand out to shake him. "Hey, are you..." The question dies in his throat as Vantas steps back like he was poked instead by a burning stick of some sort.

You sit up straight now, body strung tight like a bow about to be fired, ready to flashstep right by John the very second you need to.

John looks confusedly hurt, and fuck, Vantas, what the actual shit are you doing? You would look dead serious if the sprinklers weren't flattening your bangs across your forehead and your shades.

Sollux glances at Eridan, and Eridan nods once stiffly. The hipster stalks off and pulls Karkat firmly behind him. A few meters off, you see Ampora gesturing wildly, reprimanding his friend, even going so far as throwing his hands up in the air. Vantas just stands there, looking dejected, discouraged, and nodding grimly.

For once he's totally silent, like fucking hell, he isn't even butting in to cuss Ampora. _Ampora_ , for God's sake! Is this like an alternate universe or something? You're so confused. Fuck, what?

John glances at the two questioningly, and Sollux indulges him in a totally related conversation.

"Tho, ever heard of Cardcaptor Thakura?"

John's eyes light up and he grins a huge one that emphasizes his adorable overbite. He lets Sollux finish what he's saying and then talks his mouth off.

A good three minutes and fourty-two seconds or so later (you were counting the seconds, wondering how long John can speak without having to pause and poke his tongue out and scrape it against his bottom lip while he sucks in a breath so you can commit the number to memory), Chumpora walks into the conversation radius, Vantass following closely behind him.

The moment Eridan hears the words "magic shrinking winged stick" (or probably just "magic", who the fuck cares), he forgets he even had a friend in emotional tatters and starts a tirade about Yue and Yukito.

Sollux and he take turns speaking, and holy shit John's eyes are as wide as moons. He's following everything the two say, nodding eagerly, laughing at jokes, acknowledging references, overall being a brilliant fucking audience.

You stride (fucking hah) over to Vantas and hear more clearly what they're talking about, sicne you're practically standing by John as well. Apparently, the lisped hack starts venturing into the territory of all characters named Sakura when Egbert interrupts him and asks, "But everyone you've mentioned has pink hair. This Sakura is probably the only one without pink hair. Why is that?"

"I need to tell John something," Karkat tells you.

"O-kay, why the hell are you telling me this?"

He looks uncomfortable. You continue your train of thought. "What, want my blessing or somethin'? If you're asking for that, then no siree, never."

Sollux narrows his eyes behind those weird-as-fuck 3D shades and his nose scrunches up. He looks like he's about to spit at John like some llama or camel and you almost trip when he says instead, "You're stupid. I like you."

He then proceeds to spend the next five minutes teaching your confused but overjoyed neighbor some complicated secret handshake.

Karkat has been staring hard at you for those same five minutes.

He then starts to talk. Okay shit you gotta handle this as smooth as you can.

"Egbert, I know it's too fucking early to tell, but I need to get this heap of crap off my chest, and goddammit I think I li—"

"Uno momento por favor," you raise a finger right at Vantas' face, turn to John beside you, and kiss him.

So, sparks.

There are motherfucking sparks. Like, little fireworks, but inside you, and this is as chaste as any kiss can get, just lips pressed softly against each other, but something is on fire inside you, making your heart hammer like a fucking woodpecker intensely at it with a tree. From the corner of your half-opened eyes, Karkat looks appalled, his jaw hitting the ground and drilling a hole through to China. Who cares, though? Here's a hint: you don't.

John's immobilized against you, but he's dropped his still-cold glass onto the grass, and he still has your hand on his shoulder, and you're pressed so close that his shirt is getting soaked just because of yours and you hope he's not mad or annoyed or any of that shit.

You pull away, heart ready to fly up, out and away from your chest.

"D-Dude, did you feel that?" John suddenly asks, voice quiet, cheeks pink either from the chaste peck or the already-setting sun. His eyes dart around you, but never stay on you.

"Feel what," you sigh. Then, recovering, you say, "Oh, you—you mean those sparks, right?"

John backs away a bit. "S...Sparks? What! I meant the earthquake, dumbass!"

"Oh. Oh... Yeah. Earthquake. Yeah. I felt that earthquake..." You trail off.

Sollux and Eridan blink at both of you, who seem to have forgotten that other people existed just a few inches away. Karkat is still gaping. A fly is in danger of being lured into his stinky piehole. You cough once and shift your weight onto your other foot. John makes up an excuse to run off back inside his house. He lets the screen door slam behind him.

Your name is Dave Strider and you're pretty damn serious about those sparks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Okay, so the Sparks part of the story is a rip-off of the original Sparks story, a true-to-shit story that happened right here in this very university. And yes, it did happen between two bros. It was the start of all Sparks stories that go around every campus of the University of the Philippines. And it happened in a jeepney, so yeah good luck with that.
> 
> Video here if you wanna see, although it is in my language so yeah just try with the context clues: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsJ08a97zRM
> 
> My [Tumblr](day---ofhiatus.tumblr.com/ask) if you want translations or something. ))


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